To Be Young, Gifted, Black, and Depressed

To Be Young, Gifted, Black, & Depressed

(aka Let us be human.)

I can’t stop thinking about tWitch.

I can’t stop thinking about the smiley 

bright veneer we thought was the truth.

How he thought he couldn’t be his full self.

Someone who had bad mental health days

And felt that this was the answer.

This wasn’t overnight.

My biggest dream for my Black brothers and sisters is

That we all find freedom.

Freedom to be angry, sad, confused, quiet, 

nerdy, smart, kind, compassionate, 

love drunk, drunk drunk, soft, highest of high, and still.

We’re not allowed that.

They don’t show that.

Any of it.

If we show we’re upset, we’re angry Black people.

(Mostly women.)

If we enforce boundaries we’re told we’re intimidating.

If we show love, we’re doing too much.

If we’re living with depression 

we’re told to go outside and get fresh air.

(I’m literally telling you things said to me verbatim).

We can’t even wear our hair naturally — legally — without fear of ramification. Still.

I wish freedom to be our own people without it being called “acting like…” another race. 

I talk like this because I lived in the midwest.

I like the food I like because I’m worldly and have traveled.

I like nice things in my home because my Moon is in Taurus.

I’m a full person. I’m not just a Black person.

(Deep Reality Breath)

Depression is a robber of life.

It takes our joy, our sanity, our time, and love.

It makes us delusional. 

How could it not?

But more than that it’s exhausting. 

Exhausting.

I’m lucky. I’ve never been suicidal. 

I know that no matter how low I get, I’m gonna make it.

I just gotta sit through this and do anything thing that can distract me until I’m better.

Sometimes I can catch it in time before it gets too bad, but a lot of the time I can’t.

I’m telling you all this so that my next words 

you know come from a place of intimate knowledge.

Checking in isn’t gonna help.

We aren’t chatty Cathys when we’re there.

Chances are we won’t even let you know we’re depressed.

Getting us out the house isn’t gonna help.

We wanna be in bed.

BUT if your friend opens up and lets you in on their secret battle, don’t do anything but ask what do they need (not what you can do to help) and listen. It’ll be something small like, making sure they eat, or helping them clean (not eating and the house becoming a mess are the first things to happen).

I made the “mistake” of opening up the last time I was depressed and got inundated with well-meaning “help”. 

Which only caused more strife.

We’ll be able to smile and laugh while we’re depressed — so that can’t be your barometer. I’ve smiled in your face while fully depressed.

And that comes to my next thing. 

And I say this every time.

We. Are. Amazing. Liars.

To you

To Ourselves

Family 

And Friends.

Especially our co-workers

We are gonna 10000000000000% lie to you 99% of the time.

So yes, “I had no idea, they seemed so happy” is the point.

If this causes me this much pain, why would I burden you with it too.

I cannot and won’t speak for everyone who lives with depression. 

Everyone experiences it differently.

But I do know that the Black community has some of the highest numbers of depression (a lot of it undiagnosed) and suicide.

And that makes me so sad.

And I know allowing Black people to be and be seen as full humans instead of caricatures and stereotypes isn’t the end-all answer…but it’s a start.

I wish anyone who battles this the wisdom to know it will pass and you will feel better. There are folks who are trained to help you get through this. You are not a burden. You are not a problem. You are loved and are full of love. And those who know you love you for you. 

And if a window of clarity opens up while you are at your lowest, please reach out. Someone who’s been there before knows the way out.

I love you. Even if I don’t know you.